


The Casino Affair

by Zoot_and_Suit



Category: Cuphead (Video Game)
Genre: Bad Ending, Banter, Boners, Enemies to Lovers, M/M, Rating May Change, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, bad 30s slang, boys don't know how to flirt, inaccurate historical references, what more could you ask for
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-10
Updated: 2018-04-17
Packaged: 2019-04-21 05:13:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14277642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zoot_and_Suit/pseuds/Zoot_and_Suit
Summary: After failing to deliver on their end of the bargain, Cups and Mugs are forced into servitude at the Devil's casino. Cups struggles to adjust to living under the rule of King Dice. Meanwhile Mugs takes up some bad habits while acting as the Devil's secretary.  A slow burn exploration of casino life and why King Dice deserves a raise.





	1. *Banging pots and pans* Welcome to hell welcome to hell

“I'm not happy about this,” the manager groused, leading the young man past the stocked bar and barren dance hall. Past the blackjack tables and bathrooms flanked by two towering rooks. They rounded the corner to the left of the stage coming up on a door tastefully hidden by some well placed ferns.

The door reading “Employees Only” was held open for him and King Dice looked for all the world like he would pick the cup up and punt him down the hall if he didn't shake a leg.

The opulence of the casino’s furnishings wasn't extended to the service areas, leaving the windowless hallway bland and vaguely ominous. The young man followed a few steps behind his new boss. His eyes cast down listening to the authoritative tic-tac of the manager’s dress shoes across polished wood flooring.

“You answer to me now, got it, gingersnap?” King didn’t wait for the cup to respond; if the boy didn't understand now he soon would. The manager stopped abruptly causing Cups to stumble.

“Hours of operation are from 8pm-5am with VIPs coming in at 7,” King pushed open the door to his office ushering the boy inside. “When you’re dismissed for the day you’re free to do whatever on the premises within reason.” He spoke quickly, his back turned while he pulled down the shutter on the door’s glass window.

“When leaving the casino you have to be accompanied by me”—he turned to face the boy and looked him over with dissatisfaction plastered on his face—“you’d better listen close. I'm not repeating myself.”

Cups stood up straight, eyes wide as he took in all the information, “I’m listening!” The new, unfamiliar surroundings made it hard to concentrate on what King was saying, let alone not knowing where and what his brother was up to. “Sounds like we’re gonna be good pals in no time, spending so much time together, haHA!” Cups joked out loud, grasping at anything that could diffuse the tension in the air… And the leftover haze of smoke.

King’s office was dimly lit. The plush carpet under his feet felt expensive, to which he made careful steps as to not mess up the fibers in any possible way. Cups gulped at the grandness of the room. Earthy purples and greens with all natural wood lined the structure of the interior. He almost backed into King’s desk that was polished so smoothly he could see a reflection of himself… and King looming behind him staring snake eyes into the back of his cup. His eyes quickly darted elsewhere in the room. “Ahem… Nice office.”

Dice remained silent, staring daggers at the kid who just minutes ago was deemed to be “his problem now”.

“Yes it is...that desk is worth more than you and your brother’s souls combined. Most things in this casino are and you better remember it.”

He slid up a step, cornering Cups between himself and the desk. He observed his new lacky with critical contemplation. Wide defiant porcelain eyes stared back at him. He couldn’t trust the spitfire as a dealer, let alone to run the payout counter. He needed to stick the boy somewhere where he couldn’t cause trouble, somewhere preferably out of sight.

The manager leaned over the shorter boy while pulling a pack of playing cards from his inner jacket pocket. He set them softly on the desk and stepped back.

“Tell me, Wheats,” Dice sighed, arms crossed complimenting a skeptical frown, “do you have a single handy skill in that half-pint body of yours?”

Cups held his breath as Dice leaned closer to him. He stood his ground as unmoving as he could. The eyes on him were tense as they tried to decide his fate. Cups was overwhelmed, but an expert at not showing any sign of it. And in typical ‘Cups’ fashion, he perked up and exclaimed, “You see, Mr. Dice sir, I can hold liquid,” and pointed excitedly to his head.

King Dice looked like he was about to explode. So Cups kept going.

“B-But check out what I can do with it!” He brought his straw down to his mouth and blew into it, creating a show of bubbles.

“Wonderful,” King said flatly, “guess we'll throw you over a fire and use you to steam milk.” The manager broke into a grin at his own wicked joke.

A flush of embarrassment warmed Cups’s face. Back home that trick would have garnered oo’s and ahh’s. But he was quickly learning that such displays wouldn't work here. He would have to learn to adapt to his new surroundings. Cups visibly shuddered at the thought of being exposed to an open flame. Without thinking, he said, “That sounds unpleasant. I'd rather shine your shoes than risk melting my face off.”

King was ready to dismiss his asinine statement with another pointed insult, but then the boy’s words sunk in. “Perhaps you're onto something there, Red,” the taller man smirked. He reached over and popped open the box of cards, “But first-"

Cups watched, fascinated, as one by one a small army of cards lined up on the manager’s desk.

“We have got to put a stop to you looking like you just wandered out of a shanty town. This is a place of class,” King chided.

Cups just snorted, if his clothes were unkempt it was because he had spent the better part of the day before picking fights with doomed debtors.

Had it really only been yesterday? It seemed ancient at this point. Part of someone else life. He hadn't even really processed his current circumstances let alone had time to reflect on his actions. He wished his brother was with him, at least then he wouldn't feel so alone.

“Arms up.”

The cup jumped, turning his attention back to King Dice who had produced a small tape measure from the inner pocket of his tailored waistcoat. Cups gawked at his demand.

“I can't work miracles but at the very least we can get you into something more appropriate.”

Cups complied, fully aware of what was happening next… The cards were an entertaining surprise though.

He stepped forward and held his arms out as instructed. He watched curiously as the cards scattered around him, measuring his extremities. Hopping up onto his arms and twirling around his legs. Cups tried his best not to flinch too much, especially when they got to his inseam…

Then he felt the taller figure behind him press a tape measure along the width of his shoulders. The same hands moved to wrap the tape around his waist. Cups took a breath in from the unanticipated contact.

“Don't suck in so much,” Dice scolded, “you'll mess up my measurements.”

Cups stiffened and exhaled quickly. His arms were burning at this point. There was no part of him that felt relaxed.

King relaying the cup’s waist size to an ace of spades who dutifully jotted down the number on a notepad set on the desk. He pulled back and snapped the tape measure away. Cups cautiously lowered his arms and turned to watch as his would-be boss corralled the little playing cards back into their box.

“Do they always do what you say?” The question had tumbled out of his mouth before he realized he was speaking. Cups nodded at the card pack being tucked back into Dice’s jacket pocket. The taller man watched him with an even look of boredom and agitation.

“They do,” King ripped the paper of Cups’s measurement from the notepad. With a flick of the wrist the paper twisted, wrapping in on itself before vanishing with a poof. “And If you know what's good for you, you will too,” he punctuated the phrase harshly. The sooner the kid understood his predicament the better. With luck his new porcelain employee would crack under the pressure and the boss would allow King to rub the brat out for good.

“Now make like a leaf and scram. I've got work to do,” King Dice led Cups none too gently to the door.

“Woah now-! We just started gettin’ to know each other, Mr.D!” the cup piped up trying to garner a response. He was pleased when the hand on his shoulder clenched tighter. “I mean, you know my measurements! Ain't you gonna share something about yourself now? S’only polite!” If he had to stay here in hell, he would make sure everyone else did too.

“Report back here tonight 6:30 sharp or it's your neck on the line,” King growled. Cups staggered tripping over the door frame as he was shoved from the office.

“Wait! What am I suppos—” he was cut off as the door slammed in his face, “—to do now…” his words died off in the empty hallway.

He turned and looked around. He was alone.

Before, King Dice seemed like the tallest thing to him. Now it was the incredibly high ceiling that looked down on him. The tall narrow hallway felt imposing in a way he’d never encountered before. Cups walked forward as if he knew where he was going… he didn’t.

He found himself in main area of the casino.

_He never did say where I was staying, huh…_

Cups looked around. The casino looked so different during the day. No rowdy participants or the cha-clunk of slot machine handles. It was a calm atmosphere after hours.

“I guess it won't be too bad here,” he thought, “I could totally lounge on those pool tables awhile… and help myself to the fully stocked snack bar… heh, maybe I could find some coins conveniently dropped by patrons.”

As Cups plotted, he almost got swept up by a broom who callously pushed past the boy with a mighty determination to ignore the young man’s existence. He looked like a regular broom, except his arms also acted as his legs swinging himself from side to side. He had a fluffy unibrow almost completely covering his eyes, and he sported a mustache that was the bristles he used for sweeping. It was a wonder he wasn’t sneezing from all the dust. He kept sweeping himself around the room, grumbling to himself as he passed Cups.

“Oh, uh-!” Cups tried to get his attention.

“Hrrmph?” the broom lifted his eyebrow to reveal one eye glaring questioningly back at Cups.

“Have you seen a guy that looks like me but he’s a mug?” Cups tried to explain, “He’s got a nose on him like a bouncy ball.”

“Hmmmph,” the broom didn’t even let him finish and kept sweeping away, a little more vigorous now.

“ _Rude,_ ” Cups said under his breath. He chose a direction and went with it. Might as well get acquainted with the place.

Several winding hallways and staircases later he found himself down a hallway far more lavish than the rest. The candles that lined the corridor illuminated the deep reds and golds of the space. Ornate filigree and carved reliefs lined the structure of the walls that led the eye up to a painted mural on the ceiling. It was a lot to take in. As he walked further, his eyes remained fixed above him. He noticed that the transitions of the imagery were a representation of the layers of hell the further he walked.

He shrugged. “Makes sense.”

Cups came to huge double doors, with curvy, golden “L”s on the handles. Suddenly one of the doors slowly cracked opened. Just as Cups went to book it in the opposite direction, a big blue nose peaked out from the door and a familiar face lit up at the sight of him.

“Mugs!” Cups exclaimed, and ran to hug his brother.

“Brother!” Mugs beamed.

Cups pulled back looking over his younger sibling for damage, “Are you okay?”

Mugs nodded looking uneasy but otherwise intact. “Gosh, I’m fine. It’s you I’ve been worried about!” he rubbed his arm finding it hard to meet his brother’s concerned gaze.

“Me? M’fine. What were you doing in there?” Cups asked after a few seconds of silence. Mugs looked up to find his bother watching the gold laiden door with contempt.

“Oh- um,” Mugs stuttered, “orientation...I think?”

“You think?”

Mugs took his brother’s hand, a habit left over from their childhood. Cups led him as they walked back down the hallway. It was a nice reassurance that his brother hadn’t been replaced by some kind of hellion clone.

“Well, I mean, once Mr. King Dice led you away, an imp came and gave me a tour.”

“What? you got a tour?”

“Y-Yeah you didn’t?” Mugs looked back at his older brother’s petulant expression.

“No.” Of course Dice hadn’t told him where anything was. Earlier today Cups’s fist had been in his face.

“Well this place is a lot bigger than I thought. The first floor has a lot of extra little lounges, and the kitchen is huge. The second floor is a lot of the guest rooms, but a small part of the staff has rooms like us.”

“We have rooms!?” Cups squawked.

“Golly, Mr. King Dice didn’t fill you in on anything did he?”

“I was going to sleep on a blackjack table,” Cups mumbled.

Mugs giggled in response. “Do you even know what your going to be working as?” he shot Cups a concerned look but his older brother just sniffed.

“A dealer probably. King Dice was acting all tough, but since I’m working under the fop I can’t imagine what else they’d have me doing,” Cups made a show of smiling wide but Mugs knew his brother well enough.

“Oh Cups!” he started, turning to face his older sibling head on, “Just try to behave, alright? Just because we have to be here working off our debt doesn’t mean it has to be awful. Try not to pick a fight, okay?”

Cups rolled his eyes, “I won’t.” His answer was short and not completely reassuring.

Both boys continued down a small flight of stairs until they came to the second floor mezzanine. Cups shot a look over to Mugs. Mugs was playing with his overall strap nervously and was clearly searching for something to say.

“What about you?” Cups sighed.

“I-m ah…” A blue blush spread over his face, “Well you see,” Mugs’s voice lowered as if telling a secret, “I’m Mr. Lucifer’s personal assistant? He used the phrase “drink lacky” but it's not really like that.”

Cups paled. “What?”

“No! No. It’s not that bad. I know it sounds weird but I’m just expected to do things he doesn’t feel like. The imps can’t alphabetize and the skeletons have bad handwriting. So...” He said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. It made Cups nauseous at the thought of his brother working as a secretary for that tyrant of a boss.

He couldn’t believe how fast Mugs had accepted their current circumstance. It was probably better than fighting it tooth and nail like Cups planned.

Mugs led Cups to the workers’ living quarters. He kept glancing from door to door looking for something.

“Here we are!”

He abruptly stopped, Cups almost running into him. He peered up at the plaque depicting uncomfortably caricatured dishware.

The younger brother let himself in and held the door open for Cups. Reaching through the dark, they found the string for the light bulb hanging overhead and pulled it to reveal where they would be staying.

“Huh,” Mugs stated, “it’s... homey, I think. Cups?”

Cups’s eye twitched as he stared at the single, bare mattress on the floor. “It…” Cups took a breath, “It doesn't even have a blanket.”

“Well good thing hell is covered in flames. I'm sure we'll have no trouble keeping warm. I could ask Mr. Devil Sir if there's somewhere we could get a quilt—”

Cups gave Mugs a concerned look, “Are you hearing what you're saying right now?”

“Well I dunno bro,” Mugs said, looking down at his feet, “Mr. Devil Sir said to just ask if we needed anything.”

“Yeah, he seems like an upright, honest kind of guy, don’t cha think?” Cups exclaimed. A hard line set across his younger brother’s face at his tone, “You can’t forget that he’s the reason we’re stuck here in the first place.” Cups crossed his arms plopping down on the bare mattress in protest. There were a lot of things Mugs wanted to say back to that, but seeing his older brother sitting there looking so on edge reminded him that at the very least they were still here together. He sat down next to Cups wrapping his arm around his shoulder. Cups relaxed into him bringing their heads together with a soft clink.

They stayed sitting there for some time. Both quietly processing their new circumstances in there own way. Mugs felt his brother pull back with a heavy aggravated sigh. Cups rubbed his eyes before saying,

“Mugsy- I- I’m sorry. This, it’s all my f—”

“Oh! Our uniforms!” Mugs interrupted. A huge innocent smile on his face like Cups hadn’t even opened his mouth. He looked up to find hanging on the door behind them were two hooks, each with an outfit: one red, one blue. Mugs jumped up running over to picked up the blue one, a form fitting vest with gold trim and buttons, undershirt, and a sophisticated tailcoat. “Golly that was fast,” he inspected the details of the suit, “this sure is fancy for my style. Fitting for the job I suppose. And look at yours! So slimming!”

Cups jumped up after his brother, feeling relieved at Mugs’s sudden subterfuge. His eyes lit up at the bright red velvet vest. He held it up against himself and looked around for a mirror. Of course there was none.

Never in a million years did Cups ever dream he’d wear something this nice. The “family business” they grew up in offered them a cozy but modest life with Elder Kettle in the forest but this was just extravagant.

Cups’s was similar in cut, with no tailcoat and not nearly as decorated as Mugs’s, but sleeker with a red form fitting vest and bow tie, undershirt, and arm bands. “Not Bad!” he grinned, “Probably better it doesn’t have a coat; gives me more movement when working the table,” Cups winked at Mugs while doing a little pantomime of spinning a roulette wheel. Mugs laughed as Cups almost dropped the outfit.

“Do you even know how to shuffle cards?” Mugs squeaked out between giggles.

“Nah, but it can’t be that hard,” Cups shrugged while folding the outfit back over the hanger. Both boys stopped as a tan cloth fell out of the shirt’s sleeve.

“What’s that for?” Mugs asked, watching Cups snatch it up.

“Don’t know,” Cups examined it closer, “maybe it's one of those fancy pocket squares.”


	2. Remember, Circles!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dice confronts Cups during his first night on the job. Gay tension arises.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for checking out our fic and for all your lovely kudos! We're both illustrators and will be posting some artwork for this soon and setting a tumblr for our trash. We hope you continue to enjoy~! *flies off into the distance*

It was no fancy pocket square and Cups was no dealer. The young man's job wasn't fancy in the slightest.

When the time came he donned his snazzy new uniform and headed for King Dice's office on the first floor. His eyes wandered to check out his slim figure in every reflective surface he passed. Damn if only he felt as good as he looked.

He knocked on the door three times before an imp poofed beside him. “Da’ Mr. King Dice is busy, and I’ma ta' show you to your station,” the imp said, speaking slow and deliberately as if he thought Cups wouldn’t understand him. 

“Uh, okay,” the boy watched as the imp clicked its heels together and began to march.

“I will take you there now thusly.”

Cups nodded and followed after, only needing to take one step for the imp’s two. He was lead down a familiar hallway and out into the casino’s main hall. There, patrons had already started filing in and the band played a jazzy upbeat melody.

He followed the imp past the dance floor and through a boisterous forest of slot machines. Between a break in the aisles he caught a glimpse of King Dice drawing a crowd to a game of Blackjack. 

“So, am I going to get any training or is it just kinda learn as you go?” Cups asked, trying to raise his voice over the buzz of the casino.

“Um, the boss said you’s would figure it out,” the imp chuckled over his shoulder.

Cups huffed, of course Dice would throw him under the bus. They passed a Craps table where a skeleton delt out a round to bright eyed hopefuls. It dawned on Cups that he didn't know how half the games here worked. He hoped he was at least set up at something he knew how to play.

 “You got any tips or anything?” he asked the imp, growing gradually more concerned.

 “Yeah!” the imp piped back, “Circles, do little circles, none of that back and forth shit. Makes it all streaky.”

 Confused, Cups waited for the imp to elaborate. His confusion only grew as he realized the imp was leading him right out of the main hall.

 “Here ya go,” the imp stopped just outside the casino’s main hall. He gestured with his tiny pitchfork at the setup in front of him.

 Cups stared in disbelief. Situated in the entrance hall just after the coat check sat two large upholstered chairs that must have been dragged here from the lounge. In front of each chair was an old empty crate of Inkwell’s finest Lunar Brew, a brand of moonshine Cups was all too familiar with. Between the chairs sat an empty coffee can and a sign covered in sloppily painted lettering that read:

 

“Shoe shine 1 gold”

 

Cups’s face went hot first from embarrassment, then rage as the imp tossed him a can of shoe polish. “Well that'll be it kid, gu’luck!”

 “W-wait a minute!” Cups hollered, fumbling to catch the polish tin.

 “Remember kid, circles!”

 And with that the little demon poofed away.

 Cups immediately ran to peer back into the main hall. Other workers took to their positions at the various game tables. _I should be one of those guys! At those tables! He seriously made me a-a...-!That dirty, no good-!”_

 “Hey, kid? I ain't got all night!”

 A hoarse voice from behind him caught his attention. He whipped around to look back at his new work station. Cups reluctantly walked over to the smokey ash tray man lounging in one of the chairs. The tray dropped a coin into the coffee can, then flicked another that clinked right into Cups’s head.

 “Keep the tip.”

 The boy saw red for an instant; the gesture making him feel a little nauseous. He looked up at the stranger's expectant face and realized he was here to serve, and he couldn't expect every casino goer to treat him with respect.

 So he got to work. It wasn't hard and the little imp’s suggestion of buffing in circles really did yield better results. But it made the work no less degrading and the customers acted chronically unempathetic to his lack of training. Cups’s resolve reached a breaking point as an umbrella man took a seat in one of the chairs.

“I wanna shine, boy. I got plans with a cute parasol after this. So hurry on up now!” the umbrella insisted.

 Cups stared at the man's lack of shoes in disbelief. Where-? How was he supposed to…-? He took his chances and set to work polishing the man’s silver curved handle. The umbrella cleared his throat causing Cups to jump.

 “What’re ya doing down there?” the umbrella glowered.

 The young man pulled back at a complete loss for words. “I- I don't...uh,” he held up the rag as if that would explain his plight. The Umbrella popped open, eyeing up Cups like he was a complete imbecile. “Right, sorry,” Cups mumbled his apology and set to cleaning right this time.

 The rest of the night took on a similar tone of grumbling patrons and Cups’s awkward fumbling. He hoped Mugs was having an easier night. By the time the band died down and the last few guests hobbled out the door Cups was exhausted. His rage and indignation beaten down all night by snide comments and judgmental eyes. Even the few patrons who thought they were being kind by tossing a tip into his head only served to give him a headache.

 He rubbed his head feeling two coins tink against the inside of his cup. Ugh. He couldn't blame the customers for not understanding how rude and inappropriate it was. Not any less so than knowing where to polish on some people.

 Cups sighed and melted into one of the cushioned chairs. That made 7 gold. At this rate he'd at least be able to stash away a little money just incase.

 “You laying down on the job, Wheats?”

 Cups shot up, careful to keep the jingle in his pocket to a minimum.

 The band had stopped playing for the night. The peaceful silence that filled the air was broken by a familiar tic-tac making its way to Cups.

 Cups rolled up his sleeves and tugged on his vest. He temporarily swallowed his rage so that his words were coherent.

 “I wasn't serious!!!” He blew up anyway.

 “S’at right?” Dice spoke through a cigar he just lit. His confident strides were little intimidation for Cups. “Because I let _you_ decide.”

 Cups sputtered as Dice walked past him. The larger man reclined into a chair, languidly puffing on the cigar. “How’d you do tonight? Hm?” Dice leaned over, tipping the coffee can to look inside. “Huh, not bad Wheats, guess my little novelty was quite the crowd pleaser,” he chuckled to himself, loosening his bow tie and kicking his feet up to rest on the crate.

 Cups bit his tongue. There was nothing to say that wouldn't get him into trouble. He had promised Mugs he wouldn't start a fight but Cups was close to his limit and Dice’s smug face was begging for a punch.

 “That all of it?” King Dice said pointing at Cups’s earning for the night. Cups nodded, his mouth set into a hard line. “Ya, sure?” the manager tipped his head eyeing the boy with a predatory smile.

 “That’s everything,” Cups said, slowly annunciating each word. He kept an unmoving stare onto Dice’s eyes. Something about the taller man’s gaze caused Cups’s heart to thud uncomfortably against his chest.

 Dice gave in, for now. “Well then, hop to it. They ain’t gonna shine themselves, boy.”

 The young man looked around, then back at Dice. “Uh, wha-?”

 Dice cocked his head towards his feet. “On with it! Show me that you’re worth a coin of service,” he blew out another puff of smoke.

 Cups struggled to hold back a cough, and a punch. Instead he clutched the cleaning rag tighter and got down on his knees. He dipped the rag into the polish and began moving in circles on Dice’s shoes. Honestly they already looked spotless. “ _I bet he’s just having me do this to mock me,”_ he thought.

 For a split moment his eyes found their way forwards... A direct line to Dice’s crotch. His eyes quickly darted up to Dice’s face instead, which was staring back at him with judgemental eyes. He frantically looked back down to his work, embarrassed at the eye contact. The air felt tense between them; the only sound being cloth scrubbing against leather. Cups’s thoughts were muddled now. His knees were sore, but he was starting to not mind it as much.

 “Not too shabby,” Dice said, “Other one now.”

 Cups took deeper breaths to relieve a flush warming his face. Then he remembered his rage. “I better be gettin’ paid overtime for this,” he said, smartly.

 “I wouldn't hold my breath,” Dice smirked, tapping the ash off of his cigar into the coffee can. He crossed his free leg over the other blocking Cups from his line of sight. The vantage making it easy for him to imagine crushing the young man under foot.

 Dice took another heavy puff off the cigar. The Cup wasn't suffering near enough in his opinion. Not after nearly tearing down half the casino and his livelihood along with it just the day before. In truth keeping Cups in the hallway was more for his staff’s peace of mind than anything else. As most of them had received the beating of their lives at the hands of the two pip squeaks before he and the boss had stepped in to put an end to it.

 Cups finished up leaving a sparkle on the already flawless loafers. He waited, head still down for Dice to dismiss him. But Dice remained silent, eyes narrowed and focused on the boy. Cups stayed pinned now gawking openly back at those piercing green eyes. He couldn't argue that Dice’s confident aura and suave posture made the man an alluring sight. King Dice appeared for all the world like a handsom trustworthy man who could always deliver. But that charismatic coercion had lead Cup to ruin before. He wouldn’t fall for that cheap smile again, even if it twisted something in his stomach every time he saw it. Cups hasn't registered he'd been staring until Dice spoke.

 “What's wrong kid? You forget how to breathe and think at the same time?” Dice quipped with nasty amusement. The boy’s face went red with embarrassment which quickly turned back into outrage.

 “ **I'm finished** ,” Cups said packing as much spite into the words as possible.

 “If you call _that_ finished,” Dice huffed.

 “Oh! Golly you’re right! Let me touch that up for you!” and just like that, Cups’s promise to Mugs vanished along with his composure.

 “ _Patooey!”_

 Cups spit on the manager’s pristine shoes. The boy grinned defiantly up at Dice, refusing to break eye contact as he scrubbed.

 Suddenly the shoe he dirtied met his chest just enough to push him back. Cups stumbled catching himself from nearly toppling over.  He jumped to his feet sure that this time he’d crossed a line. But when he looked up he found the manager’s face eerily calm.

Dice stood then, brushing off his vest and straightening his suit jacket. “A word of advice,” Dice said, his voice husky from the last exhale on his cigar, “If I was in your position,” Cups held his breath as Dice loomed over him, leaning impossibly close into his personal space, “I would tidy up my act, Red.” Dice promptly outed the cigar in the Cups’s head.

 In the moment his senses could only detect the sudden heightened smell of smoke. Bits of ash mixed disgustingly with the liquid already in his cup. He practically gagged as he processed what had just happened. “Unless you're gunning for the position of full time ashtray,” Dice cautioned.

And with a snap of his heels the manager was gone, strutting back into the main hall. Eyes still wide, Cups watched him leave. His form fitting suit accentuating broad shoulders sloping down to narrow hips, which swung in time with his deliberate steps.

The young man let out a shaky breath he hadn't realized he was holding. He found himself wishing the manager had just bopped him one. At least that would have been less demoralizing.

_“I’ll show that good for nothing creep tidy. I'll tidy, right up his-”_

“By the way,” a low voice whispered, “you can't bluff worth a damn. You have an obvious tell, kid.”  

 Cups froze suddenly aware of the taller man behind him. He bit his lip. How had he forgotten Dice could teleport? In one movement Dice took the coins from Cups’s pocket and disappeared for good.  

When the rage finally subsided and Cups decided he was well and truly alone, save for an imp or two tidying up, he shuffled quietly through the main hall and into the kitchen. Avoiding the last few skeletal workers mopping up, he found his way to an empty dish sink. There he washed up thankful to be rid of the akrid taste of tobacco tainting his head. Cups jerked back surprised as two coins tumbled out of his head and into the sink.  

 At least that suit wearing cad hadn't noticed the coins in his cup. Drying off quick he pocketed the gold and hurried out of the kitchen.

Cups was unsure of where he wanted go. He craved rest, but he dreaded their small empty bedroom. He had worried about Mugs’s experience, if it had been any similar to his own night. Or worse. And he didn't risk going down that hallway again for fear of the devil poking his nose out instead of his brother. Cups continued wandering around the main hall. They should have agreed on a place to meet up after their shifts.

 As he was about to default back to their room and wait for his brother, his eye caught a lone blue figure on the stage that was so full of life just hours ago. He practically ran over to Mugs.

 The younger brother smiled sweetly as Cups jumped up to join him in sitting on the edge of the vacant stage. “Golly! You look beat!” Mugs said, his voice full of worry. He set his hand on the older boy’s shoulder.

 “That old block head gave me the runaround,” Cups accepted the welcome show of affection leaning into Mugs’s hand.

“What do you mean?” Mugs asked looking chipper as ever. It made Cups feel even more exhausted.

“He tricked me! I'm no dealer! He made me a goddamn shoe shiner!” he admitted though his voice carried none of the rage he felt.  

“Language!” Mugs piped but Cups rolls his eyes, “Gosh Mr. King Dice really has it out for you.”

“Can't imagine why,” Cups joked, giving his brother a wry smile. Mugs snorted at that.

“I guess we should just be thankful it wasn't worse,” Mugs smiled back.

“What about you? You still look intact.”

“No chips!” Mugs answered, “It went fine. This may be kind of strange but Mr. Devil is actually kinda nice. I mean he can be a little mean tempered and he says things that would make a sailor blush, but he was really polite to me. All in all.”

“That sounds really suspicious. What did he even have you do all night?” Cups furrowed his brow. There was no way working directly for the devil was worse than working for King Dice.

“Um…” Mugs looked out over the empty game room of the casino, “I held papers mostly. Got stuff he asked for. Uh- a lot of it was him showing me around and telling knock-knock jokes.” 

Cups stared back at his brother in disbelief. But more than that he was thankful Mugs was safe, free from the hassle of putting up with a downright hostile boss. “Unbelievable!” Cups exclaimed, amused. He leaned back onto Mugs then, feeling the full weight of the night on his shoulders. He was achy and burnt out and it was only their first night. How was he meant to put up with it all for...who knows how long.

“Cups!” Mugs squeaked causing Cups to jump, “Are you empty!?”

The older brother blushed. “Oh, yeah I-”

“Stay right there!” Mugs ordered in his responsible ‘you've done it now,’ voice. Before Cups could interject Mugs hopped off the stage and took off bounding into the kitchen. He came back moments later, a large pitcher of liquid in hand.

Cups watched as Mugs scampered back up onto the stage and immediately began pouring the drink into his cup. “No wonder you look so beat!” his younger brother chastised.

“It wasn't for that long,” Cups assured, “I was just about to get a refill.”

“You better have been,” Mugs said topping him off, “things will only be worse if you start not taking care of yourself.”

“Pfft when did you become the older brother?” Neither answered that question and for that Cups was grateful. “What's in there anyway?” Cups asked already gulping down the sweet sticky drink.

 “It’s a ginger beer!” Mugs smiled, “Mr.Weezy told me to help myself. I’ve already had it twice,” he confessed, pouring the last of the pitcher in his own Mug.  

 “Mr. Wheezy?”

“Yeah, he runs the smoke shop. You remember. Yay tall, sorta smolders a little,” he held his arm straight up to indicate height.  

“Oh,” Cups sure as heck remembered clocking his lights out during the fight. “Yeah.”

“Well he told me we could help ourselves to anything in the kitchen. They have a really amazing soda fountain with a lot of different drinks!”

“That’s good,” Cups said, feeling anything but pleased.  

“You okay?” Mugs asked, noticing his brother’s soft frown.

“Yeah, I’m just swell.” He lied. He didn’t need Mugs worrying over him. Not when it was something he could handle on his own. In truth he found himself jealous of his little brother. Mugs naturally sported a breezy, sweet demeanor and a sunshiny attitude that kept him smiling through any situation. It made him better at adapting to change and kept him out of trouble. Unlike Cups, who seemed to attract it. Not for the first time he was grateful he wasn’t here alone.   

He took a sip of the ginger beer. It tasted amazing, and he felt his spirits lift a little. Looking out over the main hall he watched two imps bickering while polishing tables. His eyes wandered over to the table where he had seen Dice stationed earlier that night. He took in a heady breath and remembered looking up at the taller man from the floor. Dice’s infuriating smirk looming over him while the manager puffed on his cigar. Dice appearing behind him and whispering so close to his face, then stealing his hard earned cash. Cups bit his lip, he hated that rat and if King Dice kept insisting on using Cups as a punching bag, well then Cups was just going to have to punch back.

Mugs sat in silence next to Cups for a time, watching his brother’s face grow gradually more distressed. “Cupsy, you sure you’re alright? Do you not like the drink?”   

The use of his childhood nickname pulled Cups out of his thoughts. He perked up, giving Mugs a wide smile, “No, the drink is dandy! I’m just thinking is all.” 

“Oh,” Mugs remarked with concern as he watched a spark of mischief light up Cups’s eyes.  “Well, what are you thinking about?”

“How much you want to bet I could nab that little fire poker’s pitch fork?” he grinned nodding at the two bickering imps who had started stacking poker chips.

“Oh _good gracious_ Cups, please don't!” Mugs pleaded, “Can’t we just go to bed?” But it was too late.

 

He was doing it.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a collaborative fic between two dorks who call themselves Zoot and Suit. We plan to have about 10 chapters for this thing so buckle up! Things get gay.
> 
> Let us know what you think! Make sure to like and subscribe and click that little bell icon-- oh wait...


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